


Wolf and Willow

by Antosha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Absolution, Atonement - Freeform, BDSM, Bondage, Bondage and Discipline, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Cross-Generation Relationship, Discipline, Dominance, Domme Luna Lovegood, F/M, Guilt, Hogwarts Forbidden Forest, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Luna Lovegood Being Luna Lovegood, Minor Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Neurotic Remus Lupin, POV Remus Lupin, Pansexual Luna Lovegood, Penance - Freeform, Power Play, Remus Lupin walks out on his pregnant wife, Ritualized Violence, Self-Flagellation, Submission, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:53:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24495259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antosha/pseuds/Antosha
Summary: Remus Apparated blindly, though he knew better. Rage and humiliation pushed the better judgment that he had tried so very hard to cultivate his entire adult life entirely to the side, and he left Grimmauld Place with no thought to where he was heading. (DH-canon—Remus/Luna, implied Remus/Tonks. Set just after Remus leaves Grimmauld Place in Chapter 11 of Deathly Hallows, "The Bribe")
Relationships: Luna Lovegood/Remus Lupin, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks
Kudos: 4





	Wolf and Willow

**Author's Note:**

> I know I've said this too many times in the last year, but this fic is quite a departure for me. My own tastes are pretty middle-of-the-road; I'm not terribly interested in kink-for-kink's-sake and one of my major squicks is cross-gen; I really try to avoid teacher/student fics.
> 
> So how come I've written Remus/Luna BDSM?
> 
> I have no idea whatsoever.
> 
> It started last fall when a call went out for a pinch-hitter for a post-DH giftfic exchange; the request was for Remus/Luna or Harry/Ginny. I accepted, thinking I'd go for the H/G, but when I looked at it, the request really didn't suit my idea of H/G at all... And I started thinking about DH-canon Remus/Luna... Then the exchange folded, and the whole thing lay fallow for a bit. It took seed. It grew.
> 
> I've looked back at the request again and honestly? Beyond being very interested in RL/LL, she wasn't necessarily asking for anything terribly kinky, though her profile does state an interest in BDSM and darkfic. Evidently, my subconscious is an even odder place than even I'd given it credit for being.
> 
> This is all to say, Please pay attention to the warnings, because they're not typical for my fics and they're very real.
> 
> Warnings: Bondage and Discipline; D/s power-play. Some ritualized violence. Cross-gen, sort of (Luna is legally of age).
> 
> Thanks to aberforths_rug and to bitterfig for the hand-holding, and for keeping me from getting lost in the dark.

Remus Apparated blindly, though he knew better. Rage and humiliation pushed the better judgment that he had tried so very hard to cultivate his entire adult life entirely to the side, and he left Grimmauld Place with no thought to where he was heading.

Where was the respect due…? How could Harry _say_ that to him? _I’d be ashamed of him_. Of _Remus_? Of the last of the Marauders—excepting Peter, who hardly counted? To one of Lily and James’s closest…?

_Lily and James_.

As the feeling of being unsqueezed turned him right side out again and the stars flickered brightly into existence overhead, Remus fell to his knees and vomited.

Lily and James—who had died rather than leave each other, who had died rather than give over their child. And here was Remus, looking for a _way out_ , looking for a chance to run off with James’s son to do something reckless, perhaps to get himself killed, never to have to face…

Never to have to face his responsibility. Never to have to watch himself fail Nymphadora or their child. Never to see them suffer his shame.

As he retched up another mouthful of bile, Remus felt another sting—hot tears burning his scarred cheeks.

The shame redoubled.

What had he done?

How could he ever show his face again? To have been told his duty so emphatically and dismissively by a seventeen-year-old?

Cold wind whipped through the nearby trees; there was an odd, familiar creaking sound. _Where…?_

Looking up felt the acid burn of humiliation give way to cold, leaden dread. Of course: in his mindless flight, he’d retreated to his old refuge. The Shrieking Shack swayed ominously above him.

Remus sank back, sitting on the chill, pebbly ground. It was closer to winter than autumn this far north, and the cold burned through his always-thin robes. 

As he sat there, pathetic, cowering, and considered his position, the night wind blew the scent of Forbidden Forest to him: humus and pine, scat and fur. Blood. Hunters and prey. It was a mélange of scents that was familiar and almost reassuring to him; he had run free in these woods once, unfettered by conscience or by shame, friends at his side. It was more than a week to the next full moon, but Remus couldn’t help but wish that he could let the Beast loose tonight, could hunt through the night among these ancient, remorseless trees, could throw himself unremittingly into the passion of simply being an animal—no humanity, no past or future.

No Dora.

Dora, face bright with anger, telling him to be a man. Face slack with disappointment...

Their brief marriage had had innumerable moments of joy and pleasure—in bed or out, she had the ability to surprise and delight him, something very few people had ever been able to manage, male or female. But the idea of her giving birth to a monster. Or of a child of theirs suffering for his curse. Or worse, of turning some month and failing to stop the Beast, failing to stop _himself_ from ripping open Dora and their child with his own teeth—it was more than Remus could bear.

And so he was here, cold and alone in the one place that had never cared one way or another about him or his curse or his stupidity. Waking from nights of hunting these woods, he had been bruised and battered and sore, and yet he had felt relieved, absolved, as if the forest’s malign indifference had been some sort of benediction, and Remus needed that benediction, that inhuman, vicious mercy that human beings could never somehow provide.

If only the moon were full.

_Bollocks_ , thought Remus, the desperate, keening voice in his head sounding remarkably like some odd mix between the Weasley twins and Sirius. Standing unsteadily, he began to tear his clothes from his body, heeping them against the stone foundation of the Shack. Naked and shivering, he dropped his wand atop the tatty pile and tore off towards the first line of trees.

Cold and stones tore at the soles of his feet as he ran, and the first fir tree flailed at him with its sharp needles, and yet Remus felt a kind of exhilaration begin to spark through him as pain and cold warred with the growing heat of his exertion, of his rage and shame, and drove thought and memory quite out of his head. He had run in this wood before, after all, every bit as naked, though rather better armed, and if he should encounter an Acromantula or a bugbear, he could at least be sure that his death would be quick. Not painless, certainly, but quick.

And in the meantime, frigid air burned his throat and branches cut at his face and his thighs and he felt _free_ , for the first time in months, _years_ perhaps, he felt no need to apologize to anything or anyone; nothing in the Forbidden Forest cared what he was, or what he had done or failed to do.

Dora. Dora, the night they... Dora, face bright, turned away from him, back slick, hair scarlet.

A thin branch slashed viciously across his belly, bringing him briefly to his knees. Panting, breath bursting in gouts of steam that obscured his vision as the pain on his flesh, Remus looked around. The branch caught him again, slicing across one shoulder.

Blinking away sweat—blood?—Remus stared at the tree that had attacked him.

It was a Whomping Willow. Just a small one—perhaps six or seven feet tall and as wide around, its wands swirling around it like some enraged Medusa. At first Remus withdrew but then the malevolence of the tree began to fascinate him; it continued to try to strike at him, flailing its branches at the intruder so avidly that he could feel a breeze. Those snakelike, whiplike branches, so many—if he had run right into it...

If he had run right into it, it would have flayed him alive. It would have...

It would have given him surcease.

In spite of himself—because of himself—Remus stood, staring at the young tree, and steadying himself. He found, to his horror, that the idea of giving himself over to this vicious shrub’s ministrations... excited him. His body shivered more with heat than with cold now, and that heat radiated towards the willow.

Pain had always been Remus’ friend. It was alway honest, never flinching. It was the best that he deserved and the consummation that he wished for most devoutly; Dora could administer pain from time to time—she was after all half Black—but her heart wasn’t in it, and Remus longed, more than he could possibly have known or expressed, to be _punished_ , to have the memory of Dora’s fury and Harry’s disdain—of the disappointment that had made them look so much like Sirius and James—expunged from his memory in blood and agony. And if he were to die...

Raising his arms as if to a lover, Remus stepped towards the Whomping Willow.

” _Levicorpus_ ,” said a light, airy voice, and Remus suddenly found himself dangling by his ankle almost a dozen feet in the air, his limbs flailing as desperately as the willow’s. After a moment, the voice spoke again, this time much more warmly. “Hello, Professor Lupin. How nice to see you.”

”I... Who are you?” Remus asked, trying hard not to consider his own state—naked, in the middle of the forest in the middle of the night, his erection bouncing against his stomach. As usual, humiliation and promised pain encouraged rather than deflated his arousal. Pathetic.

”Oh,” said the voice, and Remus found himself rotating in the air, turning towards an ancient oak. There, on a huge branch even higher than he sat a girl with terrifyingly pale blue eyes, a mop of fair hair and as naked as he was himself; her robes lay beneath her on the branch.

”Miss Lovegood,” he sighed.

”How lovely,” she said, cocking her head and smiling. “You remembered me.”

”You are rather memorable,” he said, looking away from the moon-bright eyes and the cold-reddened nipples.

”How nice of you to say so,” said Luna. “That was rather a stupid thing to do, by the way, walking towards a Whomping Willow like that, even a baby one.”

”I...” Embarrassment and the blood rushing to his head choked Remus. “Yes,” he conceded. “You are probably right. Speaking of which, Miss Lovegood, aught you to be here tonight, and wandering these woods so... unencumbered?”

”Oh, I’m examining the mistletoe in this oak for Nargle infestation.”

It was with some difficulty that Remus kept his tone neutral and his gaze averted. “Nargle infestation.” A memory suddenly came to mind of a much younger Luna Lovegood—demonstrably, clearly younger—asking with unusual animation about the supposedly dangerous, invisible creatures, and whether Remus would be covering them in Defense classes.

”Yes. Professor Hagrid said that it was all right, that because of that little Whomping Willow, none of the larger Dark creatures were likely to come here, and so he took Ginny and Neville off towards where one of larger flocks of Bowtruckles in the forest seems to be suffering from limb-canker, and Neville is ever so good with that sort of thing, so they didn’t need me. I’ve been looking here for the past half-hour, only, of course, I didn’t want any Nargles to get into my clothing, because that can be quite dangerous.”

”Ah.”

”And, of course,” Luna continued, sounding as if she were thinking rather deeply on the matter, “it is just as well that I’m not wearing any clothes, since you aren’t either, and that should have been rather awkward, don’t you think? Not for me, of course, since I should have been clothed and I am rather enjoying seeing your body, but for you, since I find people are often oddly uncomfortable about being seen whilst naked.”

”Yes.” The trouble with Luna Lovegood was that there always was a logic to what she said and did—however obscure or ill-founded that logic might in fact appear to be. “Nonetheless, Miss Lovegood, I am less than certain that it is appropriate that we continue this conversation in our current state. And Hagrid’s assurances notwithstanding, I’m rather concerned for your safety—”

”Oh, I am quite safe, Professor. I know this part of the forest quite well, you see. Unless you are worried that you yourself are some threat to me, which I do not think likely, since it is a week until the next full moon, and, in the unlikely event that you were to attack me even now, I have a wand and you have none.”

This observation only increased Remus’ sense of shame and anger. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_. “True.”

”On the other hand,” continued Luna, “I am rather concerned for you. It seems to me rather peculiar that you should choose to go for a run in the Forbidden Forest on a night when the moon _isn’t_ full, especially when Hogsmeade and the school are full of Death Eaters who are not particularly fond of you. When he assigned us this detention, Professor Snape took rather a lot of time pointing out to us that you have moved up from number twelve to number nine on the Undesirable List this week.”

Amazing what an appearance or two on _Potterwatch_ could do for one’s visibility. “How nice to know.” Remus’ head felt over-full, ready to explode, and only partially because he had been dangling upside down for the previous five minutes.

”What puzzles me most, however,” said Luna, “is that you seem to have _wanted_ to be attacked by the Whomping Willow, which does not strike me as at all wise. Is there some sort of werewolf-willow symbiosis?”

”Not exactly,” muttered Remus. “Would you mind putting me down? The blood is rather rushing to my head.”

”Yes, I noticed that your lovely erection seems to have rather diminished.” She shifted on the tree limb. “Oh, look, now that I’ve mentioned it, it seems to be reviving.”

”Miss Lovegood...” _Merlin, Merlin, let me die now, please._

”Yes, Professor?” When Remus couldn’t think of any way of completing the sentence without further humiliating himself, she continued herself as if this were the most natural thing in the world. “Yours is very nice, of course, though Neville’s is rather longer—a family trait apparently.”

”Please, Miss Lovegood, _please_ , it’s inappropriate enough for you and I to meet in such a place at such a time, naked as we are, but doubly so for a grown, married man to be discussing his erection with a young girl. Please—”

”But you weren’t discussing your erection, Professor,” said Luna. “I was. And do you truly think it inappropriate for us to discuss? I don’t. It’s there, so why should we not? Besides, I am of age. I am not a young girl. Perhaps that makes a difference? I do find it fascinating, however, that your body is is responding so positively to a situation that you say is so unpleasant.” Again, Remus could think of nothing to say. Again, Luna continued. “What I’m even more curious about, however, is why you were so set on being lashed by that Whomping Willow. Tell me, Professor.”

Perhaps it was the blood rushing to his brain. Perhaps it was his own sense of disorientation or her outré, matter-of-fact affect. Whatever the cause, he told her everything, though he had no conscious intention of acceding to her request. He told her about his anxiety about being a father, about his terror at what his condition might possibly do to his own genes, about his flight from Nymphadora earlier that day, about Harry’s stinging rebuke and finally about his own retreat to this old refuge, seeking...

”You came seeking punishment,” said Luna thoughtfully. “You wished to atone for your sins.”

”Yes,” choked Remus.

”I see,” Luna said, and suddenly Remus was lowered from his ridiculous vantage just below the forest canopy to just above the humus-covered floor. Lowered, but not released, and instead of dangling by his ankle, he shifted to a prone position, facing the ground. He nearly passed out at the relief of his circulation returning to something like normal. Naked flesh whispered down the old oak’s rough bark; naked feet slid along a smooth old root that passed just below Remus’ head. 

”Miss Lovegood—”

”It seems to me,” she said, interrupting in the mildest possible manner, “that what you are looking for is to be treated as a misbehaving student is treated. If I am to do this, it strikes me that you oughtn’t to call me ‘Miss Lovegood.’“

”Do—?” Remus shook his head. “Look, Luna, I—”

”Madam Lovegood.”

”I beg—?”

”I think it would help you if you called me Madam Lovegood. Mr. Lupin.” She moved again, walking by where he hung, Levitated, and he started to turn his head, but caught sight of a vast and bright expanse of her skin, glowing pink and white, and lowered his gaze again. 

He considered what she had said. Part of him would have happily denied it—he was no schoolboy, but a middle-aged man. But part of him—

” _Diffindo_!” Luna—Madam Lovegood—cried, and Remus flinched. But the curse was not aimed at him; something fell to the ground not far from him—something fairly light. “ _Accio_ wand.” 

”M-madam—?”

_THWACK._ A sharp pain like nothing that Remus had ever felt sliced across his lower back—sharp and hot, but sweet and welcome, like firewhisky, and he cried out.

”Mr. Lupin?” Luna’s voice still sounded as calm and distant as ever. “Was that enough? Do you feel purged?”

”No.” His voice was thin and small, and his vision swam, but he knew that this was exactly what he had sought when he ran into this wood: punishment and purgation. “No. Please. Madam Lovegood.”

_THWACK._ This time, the willow wand cut across his buttocks, and he arched as he screamed. Suspended in mid-air as he was, he began to twist.

” _Petrificus totalis._ ” Still floating, Remus felt his body stiffen—the part of him that wasn’t already completely, uselessly, absurdly oak-hard. “I don’t wish you to hurt yourself, Mr. Lupin.” He heard a swish in the air at his side and would have flinched if he’d been able to move, but instead of the acid sting of another lash, he felt his face released from the Full-Body Bind. “There,” said Madam Lovegood, as if she had merely wiped a speck of dirt from a boy’s nose. “Now you may speak if you wish.”

”S-speak?” Remus asked, the mingled sensations and emotions rendering his vocal cords unsteady as— As a dirty-nosed boy’s.

”Why, yes,” Luna says, a kind of laughter lightening her already lighter-than-air tone. “I shouldn’t think that simply suffering a little pain or a little humiliation would be particularly helpful, would it? Goodness,” she says, with a now-audible giggle, “this is rather exciting after all.”

_Exciting_. Merlin. Remus wished that she had left him alone, had let him throw himself at the Willow. It might have killed him, true. But _this._ Still... “Yes,” he mutters. “Yes. Madam.”

”Shall I administer another? It seems to me that you have rather a lot to atone for.” 

”P-please, madam.”

_THWACK._ A third band of flame joins the first two, this one just below his shoulder blades, and a gasp forces itself between his gritted teeth. 

”Yes, Mr. Lupin?” Without darkening, Luna’s voice somehow contrived to sound lower. Richer. “Have you got anything that you’d like to say?”

He could think of any number of things that he would like to say, some that he actually ought to say, but his mouth refused to cooperate. He managed only a grunt in response.

”I see,” Luna said, and ran a finger down his spine. He could feel each of the marks flame as her fingertip gently crossed it. “Well, perhaps another.”

Before he could answer, before he could say _no,_ or _yes,_ or _PLEASE,_ the willow wand whistled again and _THWACK_! This time his jaw unlocked in spite of his own fear and desire. “ _LUNA_!”

” _Madam Lovegood_ , if you please,” she admonished, and is it his imagination or is her voice pitched lower still. 

”M-m-m—”

_THWACK._ ” _MERLIN!_ ” he screamed, “please! Oh, Merlin, please, Madam Lovegood, please!” Something hot rolled along his nose, and he realized with astonishment that it was his own tears.

”Another?” asked Luna, and Merlin help Remus, he could not help but think of her tone as a purr.

”P-please!”

_THWACK._

” _AAAAAAAH!_ ” More moist heat flowed—tears from his eyes, spittle from his mouth and—he understood with what would be a shudder if he were capable of shuddering—a dribble of his own blood, weeping along the most recent lash-mark and down his side. “S-sorry! S-so s-sorry!”

”Sorry?” Luna asks. “Sorry for what?”

He wanted to say—burned to say, burned to tell her, to abase himself, to admit his weakness, his shame. Hadn’t he told her already? But he couldn’t make himself say it; perhaps he wished—

_THWACK!_ This time the sweet burn erupted across the backs of his thighs, and his cry was utterly unintelligible. The pain from the various lashings flowed together now; he could feel his nerves screaming to respond, to flee, but he was bound—bound by his own will by a naked girl whose scent... “PLEASE! _PLEASE!_ ”

”Oooo,” said Luna—Madam Lovegood, and once again set the willow wand to its task. _THWACK!_ “Your back is all lovely and red.”

He wept, now, openly, loudly, messily. No surprise, perhaps, but everything that he had done, every failure—of Nymphadora and their child, of Harry, of Sirius, of Lily and James, of Dumbledore, he’d failed them all and the sting of the slashes across his back was nothing to that sting, but added together… “S-sorry! M-madam Loveg-good,” he sniveled, and her hand came to rest, cool and steady on his shoulder and it hurt almost more than the lash. “S-sorry…”

“For what?” she asked, her fingers tracing the uncut flesh of his neck. When he seized up again and didn’t answer immediately, he felt her shift, felt her other hand lift—

“LEFT!” he screamed. “ _FAILED_! D-dora and our ch-child! W-weak, and c- _coward_ and _M-merlin_! f-failed Harry, he’ll n-never t-trust… And _Sirius_! W-would have w-wanted me to h-help Harry, but now he’ll never, and _OH MERLIN, SIRIUS!_ ” This last came out as a long howl, like the baying of the weak, monstrous wolf that he was. He wept and screamed, dangling there above the floor above the Forbidden Forest, the cold night air burning his wounds, Luna Lovegood’s fingers cool and smooth and…

_THWACK!_ His breath caught, sucking in phlegm and tears and choking him in his shock. The willow wand struck across the meat of his buttocks, cutting deep, and he hung there, immobilized, close to passing out, panicked, and yet beyond caring. He sobbed, clearing his throat, and sobbed on, and the shame and pain flowed out of him with the snot and tears and blood.

When at last he could breathe—when at last his vision cleared—he was still Petrified, and still Levitated, and yet he felt freer than he had done in months. The weight had lifted. Not all, however…

Madam Lovegood ran those long fingers up his neck and into his hair. “And so,” she said, “is that all?” Her tone was still low and open and not a sound that a man like him should ever hear from a girl… a young woman…

“N-n-no. N-n-not all.”

“I thought not,” she said, sounding far too pleased. “Do you want to tell me what else there is? Or would you like—?”

“ _NO_!” he hissed. “Please! Madam Lovegood, please, no, I…”

A pregnant silence grew between them. “Well, your back seems rather heavily marked,” Luna sighed, raising the wand again, “but perhaps you need me to—”

“YOU!” he shouted—a bird that had managed to stay asleep through all of his howling startled into the night sky.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, and pulled him up to her mouth. “Me?” she whispered into his ear.

“N-naked, n-n-n—” His throat locked up.

“Nubile?” she finished for him.

He sobbed again.

“Oh,” she said.

“Sh-shouldn’t be thinking things like that!”

“Like what?” she asked, sounding genuinely curious and so desperately sweet that he felt all the worse and could manage only tears in response. “Have you been thinking of having sexual intercourse with me?”

Again, only tears.

“Oohhh.” Her scent… He knew. She wanted. _NO._ “What a lovely thought,” Madam Lovegood murmured. “I should enjoy that quite a bit. I haven’t had a lover as experienced as you, of course. Unfortunately, it seems to me likely that it would only make you feel like running into the Whomping Willow all over again.”

He laughed in his agony.

“Also, I rather like your wife, as I think you rather do yourself, and so I think that fucking you would be a rather bad idea.” The sound of that _word_ coming from that sweet, peculiar mouth… “Sadly, as intriguing as this has been, I don’t think that continuing to beat you would be a good idea either, and it would neither serve my own current needs nor your future ones. Hmmmm… What punishment for this?” 

For a moment, she let go of him and he hung there in mid-air, quietly sobbing, beyond shame, and yet not beyond fear. What punishment for _this_? “Madam—”

”Hold this, please,” she said, as calmly and evenly as ever, jamming the handle of her wand between his teeth like a bit in a horse’s mouth so that he had no choice but to hold it.

”Yes,” she murmured, and ran long, thin fingers through his hair; if he had not been Petrified, he would have shivered or shuddered, but as it was he could only blink. With her other hand she grasped the bit of the handle with which he wasn’t gagged and muttered “ _Vibrato_ ,” an incantation that he had known Dora—and Sirius—to use to great effect. He could feel the wood of her wand begin to hum between his teeth.

”Yes,” she repeated, and suddenly he was aware of two things: she had stepped closer to him, so that he could feel a tickle on his cheek that could only be her pubic hair; and the scent of her arousal became overwhelming. The fingers on one of her hands clenched in his hair as the others held the wand steady. “Hmmm.”

Remus tried not to imagine what was happening, but he was neither stupid nor unsuggestable. It was clear enough. His punishment for having dared to consider Madam Lovegood as a potential partner, a potential _equal_ was to hold her wand between his teeth while she proceeded to diddle herself with it. _Oh, Merlin..._

”Do you know,” she sighed, her voice bare masking the liquid sound of her sliding along the wand, “most of the girls in your classes thought you were very sexy, Mr. Lupin. I didn’t at the time—though I must say I can see your charms very clearly now. No, at the time, I was quite attracted to Professor Sinistra. There was always something so _strong_ about her, do you know? Nothing of the victim about her, no flares of anger like Professor Snape, who Marietta Edgecomb thought so dreamy—no, she was always self-possessed and perfect. I learned that charm from Ginny during second year just so that I could do what I am doing now while I was in Astronomy practical sessions. I would wedge the wand into the telescope stand and start it humming and then rub myself against it, just as I am now, all while peering through the telescope and taking notes about the stars and planets. It is one of the lovelier things about being odd and always wearing lots of clothing, that you can make all sorts of sounds or movements and nobody gives it any notice.” She shuddered, and her fingers clenched in Remus’ hair, tightening the skin along the back of his neck and pulling delectably at the still-open welt across the tops of his shoulders.

”This is much nicer, though,” she said, her voice much lower, earthier than he had ever heard it. “No clothes. And you are right here. And I know that you know what I am doing, but you cannot do anything about it. It is... quite... Hmmm...” She leaned closer to him, so that her heat—the scent of her, and the warmth of her—wrapped his senses in an agonizing cocoon of desire. Yes, she was right there, one hand pressing her wand up between his jaws, the other grasping tightly in his hair, her pubic hair scratching against his cheek, but no, he could not do anything about it. He could not touch her or taste her as he longed so to do: this was exquisite punishment indeed. “Oh,” she sighed, her voice beginning to become airy once again, “oh, goodness...”

Suddenly, her fingers gripped _hard_ —in his hair, around the wand—yanking Remus’ head hard against her. “Oh!” she sighed. “Oh!”

And then she was still.

Remus found himself breathing hard, though he himself had been held motionless.

Her grip softened and she sighed again, a rich, musical sigh that filled him with an odd sense of contentment. “Mr. Lupin,” she whispered, “you may let go of my wand, now.”

He opened his jaw and the wand fell into her hand.

” _Salvio_ ,” she intoned, and a feeling of cool relief spread across his back that was all but sexual. “Your penance is accepted, Mr. Lupin. Your atonement is complete.” As the magic spread across his back, she hummed tunelessly. “There. That should be all better now. Is it?”

”Yes, Madam Lovegood,” he groaned. Better than better.

She giggled. “I don’t think you need to call me that now. And ‘Miss’ seems a little formal after this. You should call me Luna, I think. And I shall call you Remus, if you don’t mind.” She Levitated him upright so that he finally came to rest upon his feet once again. “ _Finite_.”

To Remus’ shock, when his body was released from the spell, it responded in release of another kind altogether; he erupted, a stream of semen spraying across the space between them, bejeweling her naked breasts, her shoulder, her hair.

”Ooo!” she cooed. Running a finger through a long trail of the stuff, she smiled up at him. “Now I hope that won’t make you run at the tree again, Remus. I don’t mind this at all, you know. Neville ejaculated all over my legs the first few times we tried to make love. I thought it was rather sweet. And semen is also an excellent Nargle repellent. This whole grove should be Nargle-free for the next few weeks.” With a swipe of her wand, she removed the cum from her skin and deposited it on the oak in which she had been sitting.

”Ah,” mumbled Remus, too at a loss to even begin to parse out what she might be talking about.

Luna walked forward and gave him a surprisingly chaste kiss on the cheek. “I think that it is time that we both got back—me to Hagrid and Neville and Ginny, and you to Mrs. Lupin.”

”True,” Remus agreed. The thought of returning to her...

”Don’t worry,” Luna said. “She will be glad to see you return, even if she is angry that you left. But you must tell her the truth, I think. About Harry, and about what happened here. All of it.”

He felt himself blanch at the thought.

”If it would help,” continued Luna, holding out the blood-darkened willow wand, “you could give her this, and tell her that Madam Lovegood gives her permission to use it when needed.”

Taking the branch in trembling fingers, he nodded.

”Life is full of surprises, Remus,” she said, touching his hand. “We do not know how long we have. It does not do to concentrate overmuch on the things that make us sad.”

”You are very wise... Luna.”

”No,” she answered lightly. “But I have been sad myself, from time to time. And I’ve watched Harry. He also punishes himself far too much.”

For some reason—perhaps simply the thought that he and Harry might still have something in common–Remus smiled. “And will Madam Lovegood help Harry with his problem?”

”No,” Luna responded, smiling brightly. “I think that Ginny will take care of that for him quite nicely. Good night, Remus.” She squeezed his hand again, Summoned her clothing, and strode off into the trees without a backward glance.

With a deep breath, Remus strode in the other direction, the willow wand clutched tightly in his fist. Back towards the Shrieking Shack. Back towards Dora and their child and the surprises that life might have in store for them all.

**Author's Note:**

> I think the reason that I found that I couldn't put this fic aside was that, in fact, it really did fit the characters. I'm not Catholic, but I'm married to one, and Remus really does have a particularly Catholic feel to him. And Luna... I can see her taking on the domme role very comfortably, once she figured out that that was what he needed.
> 
> I adapted this fic as an original erotic piece, [Wolf & Wand](https://stillpointeros.com/product/wolf-wand/?utm_source=AO3), set in 18th-century France.


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